


What Is In Me Dark, Illumine

by theaceupmyownsleeve



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstory, Bittersweet Ending, Class Issues, Classics, Crossover, Dubious Morality, During Canon, Elizabeth is not putting up with the Creature's BS, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Married Elizabeth Bennet, Morality, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Points of View, Post Book: Pride and Prejudice, Questions, References to Paradise Lost, Reflection, Revenge, Self Confidence, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Talking, What-If, differing philosophies on revenge, during canon Frankenstein, seeing past appearances, sharing what they have learned from their stories, what makes a monster?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaceupmyownsleeve/pseuds/theaceupmyownsleeve
Summary: On his way to the Arctic, The Creature chooses to hide himself away in a particular forest.Elizabeth Bennet is taking a walk in the rain.Clearly, she cannot lead this stranger outside to the mercy of the weather.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	What Is In Me Dark, Illumine

Lizzy’s parasol was not made for this sort of rain. She had thought the light drizzle at first romantic, but the fat drops had begun to splatter against her hands and face, rolling off the thin fabric in a heaving drizzle. Her feet were muddied, and the hem of her dress was likely irreparable. The moon had been visible when the rain had been but a sprinkle, but the clouds had closed over the watery light, leaving her in darkness. Pemberly was truly a wonder at night, but this was ridiculous.

She was turning to go back inside when the hair on the back of her neck prickled sharply, and she presently became aware of a presence behind her.

She was silent, but the world around her was not.

The heavy patter of rain, and the hint of breathing just at her back—

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” she whirled about. “You have very little manners, to approach a lady in the rain on an estate that is strange to you, with no call nor care.”

Perhaps it was luck that the clouds broke at that precise second, but the shaft of moonlight was as harshly illuminating as the face it fell upon.

Elizabeth Darcy rocked back on her heels, mouth forming a perfect Oh of surprise.

Wide, dark eyes met yellowed ones.

\--- 

For his part, the monster had not expected the girl. The forest had been thick enough to hide him, a mild reprieve from his fierce Northern pursuit.

She stood, defiant and dripping before him, dark hair plastered to her face and flimsy umbrella translucent with water.

He knew how he must look to her.

If she screamed, people would come— maybe even dogs— and chase him far from this estate too. If he killed her... he had not enjoyed the death of another since Henry Clerval’s lifeless body had fallen from his hands.

There was fear in her eyes, but her words still hung in the air like a challenge.

“My name is not important. I am but a traveller.” His voice was deep and grating, starkly contrasting to hers. “I see your fear at my unlucky appearance. Why do you not run?” _The others all did._ “I can see in your face that you see me before you, a monster.”

“I have met beautiful monsters,” she countered, her voice surprisingly steady. “Would you call yourself a monster?”

“I know what I am told. That which looks like me can never live peaceably among your kind.”

“Well, I know that this weather is fit for neither man nor beast. Whichever you ascribe to,” she glanced sidelong at him, measuring him with her eyes, “I would be a poor hostess to leave you in the woods to drown at my own estate.”

\---

A cheery fire burned in the sitting room, the crackling warmth drowning out the rain.

The monster thought of another house, whose welcome had seemed as genuine as this, so long ago. How hungry the fire seemed!

Elizabeth thought of the monster, though she was loathe to call him such. Where had he come from? Who was he? Did he truly go without a Christian name? She was trying her utmost to look upon him without prejudice, but she could not help the trickle of anxiety that sparked whenever this strange man drew himself to full height.

“Welcome to Pemberly estate,” she said.

The traveller stiffened as she dropped into a curtesy, “Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, at your service.”

“Elizabeth?” He cried, a strange kind of passion twisting his features.

“Elizabeth Darcy. Have you heard tell of me?”

“No.” He had grown very still. “I once knew of another by that name, but no longer.”

“My condolences.”

“Are you here all alone, Elizabeth?”

“My Husband is in town, but the staff is very near should either of us call,” Elizabeth said coolly; “And If the name ‘Elizabeth’ causes you such emotion, you do not have to call me by my Christian name. Mrs. Darcy would suffice.”

“Mrs. Darcy.”

“I am most curious to hear how a traveler such as yourself arrives in Pemberley so late at night. The estate itself is quite off the beaten path.” At this, she drew closer to the fire, gesturing for him to do the same.

He remained where he was, the crackling fire throwing auburn shadows across his hollowed face. “My tale is not a happy one. My past is of little consequence to you here, but my destination lies in the Arctic. I will live out the rest of my days surrounded by ice and snow.”

Lizzy shivered, in spite of herself. “You speak with an unfamiliar accent. Where were you born?”

“London; just a few miles from here, though I was hardly high born as you were. Neither was I low born— hardly was I born at all.”

At this, color flooded her face. “It is very presumptuous of you to claim knowledge of my birth.”

The monster— surely he was with the way he persisted in his harsh words— held out his hands. Such hands were they! Cracked and veined, large enough to lift a wagon. “You have soft hands,” he announced; “Such hands have never known work. Never grown too hot or cold. Never stretched out in begging for money or food. Your hands have never known hardship. You have the same hands as all your kinswomen. You share the same experiences, the same sense of belonging—“

“It is very bold of you,” This was spoken on her feet; “to say such things. What you have deduced from my hands has very little bearing on my heart. As for the ladies of these towns— my kinswomen, as you so aptly called them— they have borne their burdens in turn, and come out stronger for it.”

The creature smiled without humor. “How much easier it must be to bear burdens in a manor than in the forests surrounding it!”

“How poorly you know society, then, sir,” her back was ramrod straight, the only piece of her bearing that portrayed her emotion; “If you believe that walls protect from prying eyes and ears, or can possibly defend against all pain or pressure. When you are in the eye of the public, any misstep can cause a scandal. Everything I have done, I have done for my family.”

“It is better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven.”

Lizzy did not reply.

“You recognize the quote. I see it in your face,” the monster insisted. “It is the perfect application. I rule over myself, over this hell of a body, and you serve others in this heaven of an estate. Like the morning star, you are unhappy.”

“‘Paradise Lost’ is not meant to be a world to aspire to. And while I said I have had hardships, I did not say I was unhappy. I overcome my hardships and am the better for it. Can you say the same?”

The monster turned away, eyes on some distant horizon. “I accomplished what I set out to do.”

“And yet it brought you no joy.”

“I had no joy to lose in the pursuit of it. I meant what I said when I told you that those who look like me can never live amongst those who look like you.”

Elizabeth stirred the fire, face expressionless. “You appear to be well educated, yet you insist on your separation from all things gentlemanly and natural.”

“Have you seen my face?” He chuckled, but again, the action was without humor. “I am a monster.”

“Your words are beastly, true, but you readily called yourself such before you let your actions speak for you. Do you know what that appears to be?”

“Enlighten me, Mrs. Darcy,” his words had dropped to a mere rumble.

“A mask. You call yourself a monster from the beginning, and defer to the title every time you might otherwise take responsibility for your words and actions.”

“The world thinks me a monster when they look on me. Why take responsibility for what they already know? There is no use in trying to be anything but the creature they expect me to be. Nothing will change their minds.”

“And so you blame the world like a child.”

“I wouldn’t know. I never was one.”

“We all grow up too quickly. It is the nature of the world to thrust young women and men into adulthood before they find themselves ready.” Even the creature could see the sadness in her eyes. “We all have our roles to play.”

She thought of Lydia.

He thought of Victor.

“And yet they don’t play them,” the monster’s bitterness was so palpable that the flames themselves seemed to flicker. “My.... father... took one look at me and ran. No other would have me.”

“And your mother?”

“None but nature herself,” the monster spread his arms, where the last of the rain was drying in the firelight. “And you see how well she serves each of her creatures. I hope your mother was kinder.”

“Than Mother Nature? Certainly, though she is rather silly at times. My sisters and I were under a great deal of pressure to make an advantageous marriage.”

“It seems you did. How much of yourself didyou sacrifice for this home, and all it’s finery?” The strange man ran a fingernail down one the side of the upholstered ottoman he was not propping his feet on. Lizzy rather hoped that he wouldn’t.

“There are ways to play the game without losing yourself in it. Mr. Darcy was equally opposed to the whole matter of societal expectation, but he ascribed the subject to his pride. He let people believe that he was too proud to participate. When push came to shove, I knew how to say no when a play would cost me too much— no matter what I may earn from it.”

“I never learned that lesson, I’m afraid,” the man sighed.

“Is that how you came to be traveling so far North? An orphan, seeking his fortune?”

“ _His_ fortune, seeking to be orphaned.” The self proclaimed monster stood abruptly and paced to one of the windows, drawing back the shades with a grimace. “The man I told you of still lives. _”_

“Your father?”

“He took everything from me. He rejected me from birth, denied me. And when I thought I might trust him again, when love of my own was in my grasp? He threw my only chance away and left me for dead again. His monster.”

“He sounds the monster.”

“No one would think it, upon meeting him.”

“I know the type.”

“I took my revenge on him, but that revenge is done now, and nothing else remains. Surely, he is as miserable as I, now, but that thought brings no feeling but apathy.”

“I would think that a life well lived is the best revenge.”

“Then it seems that you have had your revenge on the monsters in your life, Mrs. Darcy.”

“I would like to think so.”

“I have talked of Fr— father to you,” the man turned about, seeming much more man without the anger twisting his features, “I believe that a story for a story might be in order. When I first spoke to you, you talked of beautiful monsters. Some experience encouraged you to invite me in, but there was a time where you would not have been so kind. Who was Mrs. Darcy then?”

Elizabeth was silent, dark eyes reflecting the firelight.

“He will follow me,” the monster said gently. “He seeks to kill that which he brought into the world. I do not have many opportunities left to play listener.”

“If you truly believe this, you must notify the police-“

“Who would not see past my appearance so well as you. Certainly, they would offer no protection for a pair so mismatched.”

“You must stand head and shoulders above him! Surely he cannot kill you!”

“No matter how the game resolves, the pieces are set,” he shrugged, “I have sins to atone for as well.”

Lizzy stood at his words, and slowly offered her hand. “Will you take a turn about the atrium with me? I find I speak plainer there.”

The walk deeper in the house provided little room for speech, and the stranger kept his head low, lest he make eye contact with one of the staff, all of whom Elizabeth greeted with familiarity, answering all inquiries with “a traveller who was caught in the rain.” With a murmur of condolence, the person would pass, with only a few sidewise glances at his face.

The atrium itself was splendid— a room framed in frosted glass that held a surprising warmth within its walls. Trees and flowers budded at every corner, and the ground beneath their feet was hewn with soft earth.

“This room was Mr. Darcy’s wedding gift to me,” Elizabeth said, sitting down on one bench and setting her gloves to the side. Here, the drum of the rain was more present, tapping along the glass of the roof— a mere memory of the downpour that had caught them. “It is a solace to me.”

As he looked around, he could see hints of the couple in the room, beyond the foliage itself. A book left here. A handkerchief laid there. When she said the name, it was jarring. It did not belong in such a space.

“Wickham.” She smoothed her skirts, face impassive. “I judged him hastily, as I judged many things. He was good looking, seemingly kind, and shared the dislike I had for Mr. Darcy at the time. Mr. Darcy, I had judged to be completely selfish, whereas Mr. Wickham seemed to be his opposite in every way. Yet he loved nothing more than money, and had crossed Darcy on that account several times, as I would uncover later.”

“Loving money is a trait found too commonly in all of mankind to be considered its darkest trait.”

“Most men do not do what Wickham did to make coin. He took my younger sister, Lydia, from our home, with intent of defilement. Should he not marry her, her reputation would have been raked through the gutter. In exchange for the ceremony, he demanded a great deal of money.”

The monster thought of another child, one whose bones had given way beneath his fingers. Similarly ripped from a family.

“Mr. Darcy settled the majority of the costs. Without him, I shudder to imagine what would have become of my sister. The transaction was anonymous: truly one of a far better nature.”

“What became of Wickham?”

“He is my brother-in-law.”

“He succeeded?” the man surged to his feet, indignant. “How can such treachery go unpunished?”

Elizabeth, still seated, shook her head. “It would hardly do to seek harm against him. The deed is done, and nothing can change the past. I learned from it. That is where _I_ succeed. I can remember this experience when I go to judge someone on barely a first impression. I can look past the exterior. Few people do.”

“You saw fit to give me a chance when you did not know me. You left yourself exposed to a similar monster to take advantage of you again.”

“I leave myself open to the good and the bad both.” She smiled down at the band on her hand, thinking of Darcy, and his good heart. “Once I know true intentions, _then_ I can react appropriately.

“Yet you hardly reacted at all!” The monster’s voice was a growl. “If Wickham was dead, your sister would be free.”

“It is unlikely to be his time for a great many years,” she shrugged, “I would not wish Lydia widowhood.”

“Sometimes the angel of death is far too slow in coming. An assistance, however...” he trailed off, looking at Lizzy expectantly.

“Are you suggesting manslaughter?” She recoiled, wide eyed, as if seeing the creature for the first time.

“Purely hypothetical,” the monster said quickly, the image of another fair face flashing up at him in his mind’s eye.

“If such revenge was taken, while the scoundrel would die, his actions would remain for ever. The transaction was made, the vows taken, and he died in the midst of his success, as you crudely put it.”

“Then force him to suffer as you did. Surely the man has siblings. An eye for an eye. That’s the law of heaven and hell.”

“Old Testament, not new. If I hurt his siblings, then I would be no better.”

“I _am_ no better,” the monster insisted, yellow eyes slitted, “Why should I try?”

“He hurt my sister, yes,” Lizzy’s back was once again ramrod straight, just as Justine’s had been when she— _stop! stop!_ “If I took revenge upon one of Wickham’s siblings, I would be harming an innocent. It was not any kin of his that served me thus. And surely that sibling who suffered would have friends, kin of their own! Would they not want to take revenge upon me, for my revenge upon Wickham? Any revenge taken upon me could incense a similar reaction fromMr. Darcy, or another of my loved ones. And the cycle would start anew.”

“You keep fighting until the end. You emerge victorious as many times as you must until the cycle breaks.”

“You told me that your revenge on your father has left you empty. No matter what transpires between you, it will not change what he has or hasn’t done.”

“He comes for me because I have succeeded! Whatever apathy I find now cannot compare to the fact that I hold the power to make him follow me to the ends of the earth!”

Elizabeth smiled sadly, and for a moment, he thought of no one at all, no one but her, who was suggesting the impossible, and his whole mind bucked against it. She had not been through what he had! She had not lost as much! She did not understand!

“Aren’t you tired?” her voice was gentle.

“Why should I be?” He turned from her, pacing back towards the atrium’s door.

“You can stop fighting. You can break the cycle.”

But he was out the atrium door, where Elizabeth sat, her words still suspended in the air like spider silk, threatening to undo all he had assembled.

Through the hallways, past the staff that scattered as he approached, fists balled. Did they run because he looked unsightly, or run because he sneered? He did not care to know.

Past the sitting room, where his reddened hands could never belong, no matter how many times he washed them.

Past a very surprised Mr. Darcy, who held a calling card in shades of green, red, and white.

Out the door and into the darkness, where the rain claimed him as its own. He still had miles to go before the drops would turn into snow.

He would not admit to the backwards glance he gave to the manor.

When the newspaper cycles a story of some young scientist’s recollection of strange happenings to the north, Lizzy clips it.

The clipping still resides within a particular copy of ‘Paradise Lost,’ resting next to the words

_What in me is dark, Illumine._

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a mix of both Mary Shelley and Jane Austen's writing styles!  
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
